


At Worlds End

by Dreamchester67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Reader insert, The Empty, spn fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamchester67/pseuds/Dreamchester67
Summary: You and the Winchesters are up against another big bad threatening to end the world; Dean wants to take the lead once again, but how will your relationship fare?





	At Worlds End

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y’all. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I’m seemingly better at writing angst than anything else haha. This is unbeta’d, so any and all mistakes are on me. Feedback is much appreciated :) xoxo

Once again, you and the Winchesters were met with an impending doom. It was fairly often that you three were what was stopping the world from ending, which was becoming quite alarming. Whatever sick game God, Lucifer, or whatever the hell was playing, it was coming to a point where you wondered just how many more “end of the worlds” you could take.

This time, you were up against another God-like monster that had somehow awaken from the empty. How that happened, you were vastly unaware. The unfortunate part-you were running out on plans- and friends. You had already lose more men than you cared to admit, some being close friends for years. Within the last three days, not only had you lost many men from the apocalypse dimension, but one of the most important people in your life had been killed-once again. While this dimensions Bobby Singer was different from the one you grew up with and looked up to as a father, he still had the same underlying qualities as the man that you lost to a gunshot wound to the head. To make matters worse, Cas had been killed on impact right along with Bobby. No one knew how to handle their deaths, other than to give them the proper hunters funeral and go on their separate ways.

It had been a hell of a few days, and since you felt the need to clear your head, you headed down to the gym in the far hall of the bunker. Getting the tape and gloves, you warmed up to go a few rounds with the bag. Kickboxing was always a way you used to clear your head ever since the death of your parents during high school. It didn’t hurt that it kept you on top of your game during hunts, as well. Bouncing on the balls of your feet, you threw a few warm up punches before twisting and landing a kick halfway up the bag. Slowing your breathing, you kept a steady pace for another twenty minutes. What you hadn't noticed was Dean making his way into the gym, and leaning against the wall, captivated by the intensity of your workout.

Leaning against the bag, you threw a few more weak punches before crashing to your knees and letting the tears that you had been fighting for the last few days fall. You cried for the men lost, you cried for your best friend, and you cried for the loss that you were at against this impending evil. Your chest was heaving up and down when you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back into a firm chest. Giving in, you let yourself be consumed by the smell of leather and whiskey, all while muttering how you should have been there. Dean knew how much it hurt you to lose Bobby the first time, and he couldn’t imagine what you were going through now. You had always been close to Bobby, you were the daughter that he said he always wanted. To make matters worse, someone who you both called a best friend was also stolen from you, and wasn’t going to be coming back again. So you sat like that, being cradled in Dean’s arms, for Lord knows how long. After you managed to calm down, you excused yourself to go take a much needed shower, to which Dean told you he would be at the war table with Sam, trying to figure out one last battle plan.

Heading out of the shower room, you felt defeated. You didn’t know if it could get any worse from here, but for the first time in your life, you actually sat and prayed that it wouldn’t. Walking towards the war table, you came across Sam and Dean in a heated argument. Clearing your throat to gain their attention, Sam’s face lot up and turned to Dean. “Finally, someone with some sense. Y/n, talk some sense into your idiot boyfriend.”

“Dude, she’s gonna see the importance in this.”

“Dean,” you interrupted, “let Sam finish.”

“Thank you, y/n,” Sam said, rolling his eyes at his older brother. “Dean figured out a grand scheme to get the god back into the empty and keep him there for good.”

Pausing, you looked between the boys with wide eyes, “and that’s a problem how? Isn’t that what we want to do?”

“Here’s the problem, someone has to be in the empty for it to work,” Sam finished, and the reality of Dean’s plan hit you like a ton of bricks. Turning to your boyfriend, you took in the fact that he was hanging his head, his shoulders tense as he gripped the chair in front of him as if his life depended on it.

“Dean?”

Cutting you off, Deans gravelly voice came out harsher than he intended it to, “Y/n, you don’t get it. This is our only option!” He paused, waiting for you to yell at him, shove him, anything that would prove how angry he thought you would be. However, you just took a step back with tears running down your cheeks, something Dean only ever saw in private, as he was the only person that you would allow to see you cry.

“No, Dean. This is  _ your  _ only option.” And with a shaky breath, you headed back to your shared bedroom. One in the room, you ran your fingers over one of the few photos of you two; taken on your first date, without you knowing, by Sam. While you two had yelled at him in the moment, it became one of your most prized possessions. Running your fingers over the frame one last time, you picked up the picture and chucked it across the room, the glass shattering all over the floor. Combing a shaky hand through your hair, you opened your dresser and began to throw your clothes onto the bed. 

A knock at the door caused you to pause for a moment, but you carried on ignoring the noise. A split second later, Dean poked his head in the room, eyes widening when he realized what you were doing. Taking a stride over to the bed, he began collecting your clothes and stuffing them back into the drawers they came from, pleading with you, “Y/n, please, sweetheart, Don’t leave. Yell, scream, I don’t care. But don’t leave, not now.”

Trying to suppress your anger, you take the clothes that he’s holding and throw them back onto the bed. Refusing to make eye contact, you rummage under the bed for a duffel bag. “So it’s okay for you to leave, but not me?” Before Dean could comment, you cut him off, “and yes, this is different. Wanna know how? You know I'll still be alive, whereas you’ll end up dead.  _ Again.”  _ And with that, you cover your face with your hands, sitting on the edge of the bed, attempting to not cry for the third time today.

Kneeling in front of you, Dean takes your hands in his and shakes his head, looking you in the eyes. Letting out a chuckles, he says “you’re supposed to be talking me out of this.” Looking him in the eyes, you can practically see him begging you to be angry. But you weren’t; you were tired, wanting all of this to just come to an end once and for all.

“That’s the problem, I always have to talk you out of it. Selling your soul? Taking on the Mark of Cain? Saying yes to Michael? I always try to talk you out of it, and you always end up doing it anyways. I can’t see you not come back next time Dean. I’m done.” With a sigh, you see him on the verge of tears. Deciding to continue before you lose your nerve, you lean forward and kiss him on the forehead. “Dean, I love you so much. But I can only go through this so many times.” Standing up, you finish packing your duffel, Dean kneeling in the same place he was earlier.

“Please don’t try to find me.” When Dean dropped his shoulders, you took it as your cue to leave. Saying goodbye to Sam was difficult, however he understood why you were leaving and you agreed to stay in touch. With a hug, you climbed into your ‘68 Firebird and saluted goodbye to the bunker. Knowing you may never get the chance to again, you pulled out your phone and sent one last text to the love of your life.

“Goodbye, Dean.”          

 


End file.
